


Hold Your Breath

by shipatfirstsight



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love Again, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Introspection, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipatfirstsight/pseuds/shipatfirstsight
Summary: Maybe that’s all his words to her had ever been—sweet lies. If he’d loved her, he certainly wouldn’t now, not now that he’d been with Elizabeth. He couldn’t love her anymore, if he ever had at all.  
Or, Demelza leaves, a modern AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, just a modern AU from the end of Warleggan after the whole cheating incident.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Demelza had known this day would come. It was a horrible nightmare that she had always worried would one day come to fruition, a sinking suspicion that her husband’s honeyed words were half-truths, as much to reassure her as himself. Maybe this _was_ a horrible nightmare. Maybe she’d wake to the loving husband of old, Julia still tucked into her bed, alive and well.

She known the minute he walked in the door. She knew the night before, honestly, when he’d pushed past her despite her protests. It seemed that everything had always led here. Demelza didn’t want to believe it—she’d wanted to think for so long that _her_ and Ross were the ones the universe had brought together despite the odds. But maybe, maybe, maybe the universe had always wanted Elizabeth and him to be together. _He_ certainly had always wanted to be with Elizabeth; he would never have picked Demelza given a choice between the two of them. And now, he’d made his choice, consequences be damned.

She never wanted to see him again.

But there he stood in the doorway, and she couldn’t read his expression. She turned her eyes down to the food in front of her. _Go away go away go away_ , she pleads internally, hoping he’ll just go and pack his things and leave so she can cry her lungs out but he just keeps _standing_ there staring at her like he expects her to be the one to break the silence.

“I slept with Elizabeth,” he bursts out, as though the words couldn’t stay in a moment longer, and she wished he had built up to it, had given her time to guess at the words he would say. If he had, she would have told him to keep them inside so she would never have to hear them because she already knows. He continues on, though, but she doesn’t hear what he says, dimly aware of “…marry” and “…Warleggan,” details she already knew, and she can’t stand to hear his excuses, especially when she can’t seem to detect an apology in his words. He keeps going on and on—there’s a ringing in her ears.

“You must see I had no choice,” he finishes, finally, and that cuts through the haze in her mind.

And she can’t breathe. She can’t look at him, blinking her tears away furiously; she can’t let him see her cry. Demelza could feel the old panic building up, her breath starting to heave in her lungs, but she won’t…she won’t loose her composure in front of this man who owned her heart and trampled over it and threw away _everything_. Again he stands there, expecting her to say something and what the hell does he expect her to say? But he starts speaking again and offers still more excuses and not apologies.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” she says finally once she thinks she can get words out, and she’s surprised by the coldness in her own voice, glad that the words shock him into silence. And then she sweeps the dishes off of the table; she looks up at him in time to see him flinch as the glass hits the floor.

Rushing into the kitchen, she finds her son and gathers Jeremy in her arms, clutching him tightly to her. She sped from the kitchen to their—her—his—bedroom, twisting the lock so he could not follow after her. She sets her son down on the bed and then sinks to the floor. Her eyes close shut as she hugs her knees to her chest, unable to look around the room that held so many memories of _them_ , memories tainted, ruined perhaps forever by his revelation. Dimly, she is aware of the hot tears that fall over her face, a silent anguish, wetting her jean-clad knees, but she can’t be brought to care or to wipe them away.

Her Ross, _her_ Ross, how could _he_? She can’t fathom—but he was never truly hers, was he? Not in the way that she was his, completely and totally with no doubts, no hidden old lover in the background of her mind. Ross was it for her, but she’d known she would never be _it_ for him. Demelza had married him, already in love—a state she’d been in for almost the entirety of the time she knew him, but it had taken him months into their marriage to get there with her. And she’d known, even as he told her those words she’d longed to hear, _I am your humble servant and I love you_ , that he would never love her a fraction of the amount that he loved Elizabeth. And she’d been okay with it then when it seemed like all he wanted was her, and that with every passing day he _was_ growing to love her more. She’d even let herself hope that one day he would love her more than he’d loved Elizabeth.

But even if he had never done that, Demelza had thought she could live with it, thought she could accept that he would never be fully hers. It was fine, since he seemed to genuinely care about her. And then when Julia—the thought of her never failed to bring pain to Demelza—was about to come into the world he’d told her words that soothed her, convinced her that perhaps she might actually be enough for him.

_“Nothing else matters but you_ ,” he’d said, so earnest, “ _all my relatives and friends—and Elizabeth, and this house and the mine…I’d throw them in the dust and you know it—and you know it.”_

But she hadn’t known it, not then, not when she could have believed him. And she’d wanted _so_ badly to believe him, so she’d let herself fall for it, fall for the idea that she was primary in his thoughts even when he always seemed to return to Elizabeth. Maybe if Julia had survived—but no, she wouldn’t let herself go there; those thoughts only led to more pain and she was in enough pain at the moment that she couldn’t add the pain of Julia’s loss on top of it.

She certainly couldn’t believe those sweet words now, not after his hurried admission. Maybe that’s all his words to her had ever been—sweet lies. If he’d loved her, he certainly wouldn’t now, not now that he’d been with Elizabeth. He couldn’t love her anymore, if he ever had at all.

Adrift, she felt adrift and lost, and didn’t know what she should do. She wanted to yell and scream at Ross. She wanted to sob until her throat was raw. A smaller part of her, a hysterical part of her, wanted to laugh. Demelza knew, though, knew what she had to do. She had to leave; she couldn’t stay here, with him, in their home. What if he wanted to divorce her? What if he wanted Elizabeth to be his wife now instead of her? Was she supposed to just go back to being his secretary and cook now that he no longer wanted her in his bed? Was she supposed to pretend the past six years of their marriage, of their love, hadn’t happened? No, leaving was best. She couldn’t be here when he brought Elizabeth. She had to leave…

…but where was she supposed to go? She had little savings of her own, and she couldn’t go back to her own family. She certainly couldn’t go to the Poldark family house. Maybe…yes, Verity’s seemed a good option, at least until she found a job and could secure an apartment for herself. She’d have to think about other matters, like whether she should file for a divorce (but her mind shied away from that idea entirely, and so she would think on it when the pain was less fresh).  

Demelza felt certain she was cursed to leave the places she considered home. If she’d had some semblance of a choice in either situation, she wouldn’t have left. Always, the choice was forced onto her by the actions of others. If her father had been a different man, a better man…if Ross had been a better man…but she was not one to be weighed down by what-if’s. Something Ross had said, long before when they were first married, tugged at her--- _accept it as a fact of life_ or some such. Yes, she would accept this curse as a fact of her life. She wondered, briefly if she would ever find a home where she would stay before wiping her eyes and standing once more.

She packed quickly, efficiently. She soothed Jeremy when he needed her, but otherwise she focused completely on the task at hand. It had not escaped her notice that Ross had not come after her, or if he had, he had not demanded entrance into their bedroom. Apparently, he was done trying. That fact alone cut her more than anything else had. He’d made his decision it seemed, and that was it. He’d probably be glad that she was leaving.

Few of the things in the room belonged to her to start with, but she still made herself look over the entirety of the room searching for any little thing she might have missed. She knew she was prolonging the inevitable, but she…she’d always had such a hard time saying goodbye.

Quietly, she eased out of their room to Jeremy’s. He had almost as many things as she did, but she’d need his diaper bag. Once back in their room, she gathered her son to her, warm and comforting against her.

“I’m sorry love,” she whispered against his cheek, “we’re gonna have to leave.” He patted her neck, calming and hardening her resolve all at once. And then her gaze slipped to her wedding ring. A sob built in her throat but she swallowed it down, setting Jeremy back on the bed. She tugged the ring free, trying not to think about when Ross had slipped the ring on her finger (the courthouse; a beautiful summer day; flowers in her hands; she hadn’t expected a ring for their elopement and he’d seemed happy that he’d managed to surprise her telling her it had been his mother’s, and Demelza had loved its weight on her hand). She set the small band of gold on the bedside table.

Ross was nowhere to be found by the time she made her way back downstairs, bags and Jeremy in hand. _He’s probably gone back to Elizabeth now that he’d told me_ , she thought bitterly. It didn’t matter. It would probably be easier to leave if he was not there, if she didn’t have to talk to him. She grabbed her keys from their spot beside the door, and turned back, looking at the house that had been her home.

“I wonder if we’ll ever see it again, my love,” she whispered to her son. Maybe he would, even if she did not. She hoped Ross would want to see their son, even if he was with Elizabeth; and then she wonders bitterly if he would not be happier if Elizabeth ended up pregnant than he had been when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Jeremy.

“Goodbye,” she mutters, a single tear trekking down her face.

She has to tell Garrick to stay ten times. She can’t, she knows she can’t bring the dog with her, that she won’t be able to find an apartment if she brings him with her, that and Verity’s place doesn’t allow animals.

“I’ll come back for you,” she promises and doesn’t know if she means it. Doesn’t know if she’ll be able to stomach coming back here again. But she says it anyway—a fools hope.

* * *

If Verity was surprised to find Demelza outside her door close to midnight, she didn’t say anything. Demelza merely found herself ushered into the little house Varity shared with her husband and directed to the guest bedroom. She wasn’t remotely sure how she was going to explain, or even if she should. She could tell Verity that her and Ross had gotten into a fight, and end the discussion there. She didn’t want to put a rift between the cousins, though, so she would not tell the full story unless she absolutely had to.

It didn’t take long for Ross to find her. He appeared at Verity’s the next morning; she refused to see him. Or to listen to the forty voicemails he’d left on her phone, after the first one imploring her to _understand_ , and _it was just_ one _night_. She’d been so angry she’d almost thrown the phone at the wall before erasing the rest of the messages.

“Dear,” Verity started, clearly trying to understand why she was so upset, “if you just see him, I’m sure the two of you can work it—“

“No. I’m sorry, Verity, but I can’t stand the thought of looking at him right now.” She left the _and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to look at him ever again_ unspoken, but it hung awkwardly between them. “I’ll leave if you think it will cause you trouble with R-Ross,” she said, stumbling over his name for the first time in years, surprised at the pang just that act caused. One night. Just one night. It had changed six years of marriage.

He came every day, and she didn’t want to think of him neglecting all his other duties out of what she was sure was either merely guilt—some last vestige of affection for her—or what little worry he had for society’s opinion of him coming out. It wouldn’t do if the high and mighty found out that she had left him because of an affair, even in this day and age. It only fed her anger that he kept coming again and again; pleading with Verity to convince Demelza that she should see him.

And always more messages—never an apology, oh no, not for him, just long winded ramblings about why she shouldn’t be angry. “It doesn’t serve us,” he said in one and she nearly called him back for that one, if only to yell at him. She was ashamed to admit that the reason she listened to each and every message, aside for the hope for an actual apology, was that she missed his voice. She’d grown used to it, hearing it every day for nearly nine years, since before they’d gotten together. Despite everything—well, talking to him, hearing his voice, was just as much a part of her day as getting dress.

* * *

 

She’d had a particularly long day; she’d found a job at a local restaurant, and it was much different cooking for a never-ending crowd than just for her little family. But it stopped her from thinking overly much about her husband, and for that alone she was glad. Demelza could barely admit that she _wanted_ to share the news with Ross, so proud of getting a job for herself, and it had become second nature to her to share her accomplishments with him. They’d shared everything with each other, told each other everything. Another part of her raged against that—she had no reason to tell him a damned thing.

So she was horrified to find him in the living room of Verity’s house, balancing Jeremy on his knee, talking with his cousin. She half wanted to run to him, plead with him to just give her whatever parts of himself he was willing to give to her if only he could try to love her again; the other part of her wanted to crown him. Instead, she settled for standing frozen in the doorway. There was no helping it now—she would have to talk to him.

“Hello,” she greeted quietly to the room, glad when Jeremy scrambled off of his father to run to her. Demelza picked him up, listened to his excited, broken chatter about his father and his aunt. She tried to smile for him; she didn’t want this… _break_ to hurt him. Soon, he wanted to be set back down, going over to his toys on the floor, and she was left standing awkwardly in the doorway. The only seat open was next to Ross; Verity was in the room’s only single chair, and Ross was on the couch. Stealing her reserve, she walked over to it, sitting as far from his as she possibly could.

She could feel him looking at her from the moment she stepped into the room, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on her son; the silence grew and stretched, lingering, no one wanting to break it.

“I was just telling Ross that you’d gotten a job, my dear,” Verity said finally.

“Yes, it’s a good one,” small talk was good, she could pretend it was any random person and not the man she loved and hated in equal measure nowadays. “Doesn’t pay an awful lot but I’m enjoying it.”

Ross had turned toward her, looking at her, studying the side of her face when she refused to turn toward him. She let her hair fall forward, covering that part of her face. “That’s wonderful,” he said quietly.

“I’ll give you two a moment alone,” Verity says after another uncomfortable silence, picking Jeremy up on her way out of the room.

“Why are you here Ross?” she grinds out when the door has closed. She allows herself to look at him briefly, just to see…she’s terrified that he’s come bearing divorce papers.

“I came to tell you that the we struck a massive load of tin. I’ll be able to pay off all of our debts.” He sounded so happy as he told her; an excuse she knew, an excuse to see her to tell her…whatever he really wanted to tell her. She almost let herself smile at him, almost let herself be swept away by the joy of his tone.

“That’s wonderful for you Ross,” she finally says, never looking at him, and she’s not surprised by the coldness in her tone.

“For _us_ ,” he insists, reaching out and grabbing her hand. Demelza lets him; if this is going to be the last time he touches her, whether by his design or hers, she’ll take it.

And there’s so many things she could say to that. The worst of it was that they were no longer an _us_ ; he’d…he’d forfeited that the moment he’d walked out the door and driven to Elizabeth’s. But she can’t seem to force anything out. She doesn’t want to yell at him anymore, at least not for the moment, and she’s so _tired_.

“Demelza,” he pleads, a new tone entering his voice, “come home. I understand your anger but I…I want you to come home.”

She can’t believe it—can’t believe he still can’t apologize for what he’d done; and she suddenly found that she wanted to hurt him even a fraction of the amount that he had hurt her.

“Come home? For what? To watch you be in love with another woman? To watch you neglect your family for her?” she takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. She just wants this to be over; she doesn’t understand why he would think she would come home.

“No! Demelza, if you wait and have patience—“

“ _Patience_?” she interrupted incredulously, finally looking at him. She tore her hand from his.

“I know this will all work itself out,” he pressed on, reaching out for her once more. She shied away, and he stopped.

“Do you expect me to sit at home while you fuck another woman?” Oh she was well on her way to yelling at him now, her voice rising with every word. She hadn’t used that particular curse word in years either; she couldn’t remember ever being this angry.

His brow squinted down as it once had when he’d…when he’d been confused when she told him she sometimes thought she displeased him. “No, of course not—“

“Do you expect me to sit around and wait for you to decide that you want _me_ and not her?”

Again, that same confused look, but there was anger growing in his gaze too. “It’s not a question of not wanting you, Demelza. It’s a question of not wanting her.” His voice is raised too, now, and she’s angrier at him for thinking he has any right to be angry with her.

“Regardless, I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to decide.” She’s proud of how firm she sounds, her resolve strengthening with every word out of his mouth that isn’t an apology. Excuses; he was full of them and she was sick of it.

“Demelza, please, I came here with _good_ news. I—I wanted to share it with you first.” He says it like that’s supposed to make her feel better about what he did—like she should forgive him because he wanted to share _new_ of his mine with her.

“Go share it with Elizabeth, Ross,” and she revels in the pained look that shoots over his face. “I’m sure her response will be more pleasing to you than mine could ever be.”

“Demelza, I understand your anger—“

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you do. I look at you and it _hurts_ Ross, do you understand that?”

“Am I too late then?”

She heaves a sigh. “For what, Ross?”

“To get back what we had. For us to work through this.”

“There’s nothing to work through, Ross. You want her; if this is from some sense of guilt…do you want my permission, is that it? Go live with her for all I care Ross.” She’s not yelling anymore; she just wants this to be over, she wants him to leave.

“Why am I here Demelza? Why do you think I’ve been here everyday to see you?” He pauses, waiting for her to respond she imagines but she has nothing left to say. “I _do_ still want you, Demelza.”

And she finally knows how to hurt him.

“Do you only want the women who are no longer available to you? Do you find pleasure in pining after women who are no longer yours?” Demelza spits out, ignoring Verity’s sharp inhalation of breath; she hadn’t realized Verity had come back into the room but now she doesn’t spare her a glance. Demelza found that the pain that crossed over his face at the words gave her a sharp twist of pleasure, even if deeper down she wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to take the words away. But she can’t take the words away, no more than he could take away his actions. But then the momentary euphoria faded and she felt _nothing_. “I won’t keep you away from Jeremy, if you want to see him. But I don’t know that I want to see you anymore.”

She moves to leave, to run, to let him leave her again.

“Demelza,” he calls, desperation edging into his tone. 

“What did you _do_ , Ross?” she hears Verity ask as the door swings shut behind her. 

* * *

 

Demelza doesn’t know when he leaves. The next day, she takes the apartment above the restaurant where she works. Verity insisted it would be fine if she stayed, promising not to let Ross in again until she wanted to see him, but Demelza…she wanted to leave. She wanted her own place for once. Verity came over everyday anyway, babysitting Jeremy while she was working, saying she wanted the practice for when her own child came along. Demelza half suspected she was checking up on her, maybe for Ross.

She hated him.

* * *

Malcolm McNeil is a…pleasant distraction. He was a frequent visitor to the restaurant. He’d wanted to “meet the chef.” She wasn’t ashamed to admit that the majority of his appeal was that he seemed to think so highly of her in all things. But she didn’t _like_ like him. She didn’t want him, not the way she wanted Ross. She wondered if she’d ever feel that way about anyone else. But that doesn’t matter when at least he seems to want her and only her. It’s refreshing to be someone’s only focus. Dimly, she’s aware that she’s doing to him what Ross did to her—using him as a distraction.

He asks after her wedding band one day—the imprint of her ring still there and she wonders if that will ever fade, and if it does if that will be before or after her feelings for Ross fade, or if both will never go away. She can’t bring herself to explain to Malcolm what happened. He seems to grasp the gist of it anyway.

“He’s a fool,” Malcolm murmurs, low and private, and that makes her want him more than anything else he’s said before. And she wonders—well, it seems only far, if Ross could thrown off their vows to each other so easily, maybe she should…maybe it would make her feel better.  

He kisses her in the hallway after she’s closed up for the night, having successfully shooed Hugh Bodrugen out the door. Demelza invites him to her room. If Ross can throw off their vows, their love, everything so easily, then why shouldn’t she return the favor? She almost goes through with it. She tries not to think about how different it is. But she can’t help but make the comparisons. His mustache, his kisses, his hands, his body against hers makes everything in her seize up. _Not right,_ her mind insists, _not right._ No longer can she stand even the thought of him touching her.

“Stop,” she says, pushing him away.

“Is there something wrong my sweet?” he asks, reaching for her once more.

“I can’t,” she explains.

He’s not happy with her, not happy to leave, but it is his anger at her stopping him that makes it clear to her she made the right choice.

* * *

Ross comes the next day, ostensibly to see Jeremy. In her own stupid guilt, though, she wonders if somehow he knows what she almost did. As though he has any right to be angry at her. As though he would have a right to be angry with her if she _had_ slept with Malcolm.

“How’s Elizabeth?” she asks by way of greeting; angry because she’s convinced herself that somehow he must know what she almost did. That he’s come to check on her. That he’s come to remind her that she’s his and only his, even if he’s not only hers.

“I haven’t seen her,” he murmurs quietly, his gaze staying on their son.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” she scoffs.

“She married George,” he continues in the same tone.

“Oh? So you’re here because she again chose another man over you? I’m so flattered to be second best.” Distantly, she wonders why she can’t stop being so mean. She’s never been this mean this consistently in her life and she wonders where it’s all coming from. She hates that he’s making her this way. She wishes—well, she doesn’t exactly wish that she’d slept with Malcolm. But she wishes she could bring herself to want someone else the way she still wants Ross.

“I never said you were second best, Demelza,” he reminds her. As though saying that changed what his actions showed.

So she reminds him, “But you’ve done a good job of showing me that I am nothing more than a second choice to you.”

“What do you want from me? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he says, finally turning to look at her.

“I want you to take back what you did. I want it to have never happened,” she can feel the tears forming; she wills them away. She won’t give this man anything but her anger. She won’t let him see how much he’s affected in in different way.

“That’s impossible, Demelza. What do you want me to do to fix it now?”

“You can’t, Ross. I look at you and all I can see is you with her. I can’t---I spend six years of our marriage wondering if you thought of her when you kissed me. We can’t—I can’t go back to the way things were. I can’t live with wondering if you’re comparing me to her when we’re together.” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond. She goes down to the restaurant, letting him have the day with his son. She misses being able to spend the day with her child; she misses Nampara; she misses Garrick; she misses…she misses Ross. The little things—telling him everything. She wishes she could go home.

Verity is there when she’s done for the day, Ross nowhere to be found. It’s not disappointment she feels. She didn’t want to see him. Except, if she’s being honest she _did_ want to see him more. That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to stay and fight and stop making excuses. She wanted a real apology. She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong. Or she wanted him to leave her the hell alone. She knows she can’t expect that, not with Jeremy, but…she wished he would stop giving her hope that she was still to be a part of his life.

“Ross left this for you, my dear,” Verity greets, handing her a padded envelope.

She expects divorce papers—regardless of Elizabeth’s matrimonial state. Maybe he thinks if he waits long enough, Elizabeth will eventually come to him anyway. But only her wedding band comes out.

There’s a note, a small one, in his firm hand that just says _It’s always been yours anyway ~Ross_

She puts the ring on a chain and wears it around her neck. She’s not sure what she wants to do, but she’s not ready to put it back on her finger yet. But the familiar weight is reassuring anyway.

* * *

Ross calls before he comes again, asking to see Jeremy. “And you,” he’d adds, but she’s firm in his insistence that she had to work. In truth, she’d had to switch her schedule to be able to work when he came. He didn’t need to know that though.

Verity was watching Jeremy when she left for work, but when she came home, there her husband was, on the floor with their son. She greets them both—resisting the urge to ask when Ross was planning on leaving—and heads to the kitchen. She pulls out three plates instead of two—she’ll be polite, even if only for the sake of her son, even if grabbing the three was something she did on a nightly basis. A force of habit.

“I was just leaving,” he says when she comes back into the living room.

“Oh,” she replies. “You can stay for dinner. If you want.”

He swallows, and she doesn’t understand his nervousness at all. “I’d like that.”

They don’t talk much over dinner, but its oddly comforting to be around him again. She can almost pretend that they’re on a family vacation or something. Almost. But then she remembers why they’re here instead of Nampara. She clenches her fork in her hand—Ross notices, she hears him sigh from across the table. She has to resist the urge to stick the fork in his eye.

“I’d best be heading back,” he finally breaks the silence to say when they’ve all finished. “Can I come again?”

“Of course,” she responds without thinking, and curses herself for the words and the way his eyes light up.

“Ross,” she stops him one night as he’s about to leave, struggling with the words she wants to say. He looks at her expectantly, waiting for it. “Why haven’t you asked me to come back to Nampara since that day at Verity’s?” She’s not sure…well, she _knows_ she doesn’t want to go back to that house yet, but a part of her hurts that he hasn’t asked ever. She doesn’t understand why he keeps coming…

He looks surprised at her question. “I didn’t think you’d want to—you made your feelings clear.”

“Are you just coming to see Jeremy, then?” she asks it, wanting to know where they stand.

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” he rushes through the words, tripping over them. Something crosses his face and he says, “You think I no longer love you, is that it?”

And she’s taken back to the night that he asked her that the first time. She remembers—how he’d made love to her that night, seeking to prove his affection with his body. She shakes herself. “I think you never loved me at all.”

“Demelza…”

She puts a hand up, stopping him. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Of course it matters.” He reaches out, hesitant, waiting perhaps for her to push his hand away or shrink back from it. She does neither, and his hand caresses her cheek. “But I’ll wait to tell you, if that’s what you’d rather.”

She nods at that; she doesn’t want him to tell her he loves her when he hasn’t apologized. Not when he’s still in love with Elizabeth.

* * *

But she tells herself repeatedly in the coming days that she does not look forward to seeing him. And she can almost believe that too.

* * *

“I wonder,” he muses aloud, one day, watching her settle Jeremy into his bed. She eases the door closed, leading Ross back to the living room before urging him to continue. “Julia would be almost six.”

“Yes,” she agrees, feeling a prickle of tears behind her eyes that she urges away. “What made you think of her?”

“Only—I was thinking about how much we’ve gone through together in only six years of marriage.”

“Sometimes it feels longer,” she admits.

“Yes, and other times not long at all,” he hesitates again, but presses on. “We’ve overcome a lot together. Can’t we repair this rift between us?”

“Some things can’t be overcome,” she says, but it’s not her real answer. She just wants—doesn’t want him to expect something she’s not totally ready to give. Her forgiveness, her trust, even her love, she’s not ready for those things yet though she does find herself wanting to sometimes.

Frustration takes over his face, though. “Sometimes, you look at me and I think you’ve forgiven me, or that you could forgive me eventually. But then, you say things like that and I wonder if we’ll ever go back to the way we were.”

“We’ll _never_ be able to go back to the way things were before, though, Ross. You broke our vows. You broke my trust. Even if I do forgive you one day, we won’t go back to the way things were before you…had your adventure.”

“I just want to forget it ever happened, Demelza, why can’t we just move on together?”

“Why haven’t you apologized, Ross?” she asks, low and vicious, easing away from him. “Because you don’t think I should still be angry at you? Because you don’t think you really did anything wrong?”

“No, no, Demelza, that’s not it—“

“Than what is it?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits miserably.

“Sorry is normally the place to start.”

“That’s not what I meant…I don’t think anything I say will ever make it better.”

“Well I needed an apology.”

“Demelza, I’m so _sorry_ —“

“ _Needed_ , Ross. It’s too late now.”

“Demelza, please, let me explain,” and there’s desperation in his face and in his voice and maybe that’s why she sits back down, further from him this time but still there. And she listens to him. “I want…I _need_ you to know that Elizabeth doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“Ross, don’t _say_ things like that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t want you to say things just to make me feel better.”

“But it’s the truth,” he says, taking her hand again.

“For now. But what about—what if she decides to want _you_ again, in a month, or in a year, or ten years from now? What if your feelings for her come back again? I can’t—don’t give me empty promises, Ross,” and she’s close to tears as she implores him, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t will them away. She pulls her hand away, though, stands up and paces the room.

“Demelza, when I tell you that you have my whole heart, I mean it. Forever. No one else, not even Elizabeth, has a place.” He looks so earnest as he says it, and she so desperately wants to believe him. But it’s hard.

“Oh _Ross_ ,” she says because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’d loved her for a long part of my life. I—I, perhaps I created something huge and fantastic out of something small. And there you were, so ingrained in my life. I should have seen your value. But…I let what I built her up to be overtake what you meant to me with just your simple presence.” He sighs, and she crosses her arms over her chest. Armor. Protection from this, this hurt. These words she’s not sure she wants to hear. “I don’t regret that night.”

It hurts her to hear that more than she would have thought possible. “You don’t?”

“No. Not for the reason you think,” he reassures her. “It made me realize things I should have realized forever ago. I realized—you’re the love of my life, Demelza, and I knew that when you were sick and dying, but I allowed myself to forget again. But it’s you, love, you that I have a real and deep, and unending love for. Not her.”

And she wanted to return the words—wanted to tell him. But she couldn’t help feeling—it was too late for him to realize that. “Did you enjoy it, though?”

“Demelza…” he says, and she can tell, this, this question he doesn’t want to answer.

“Tell me, Ross. I want to know,” she doesn’t know why this is important to her, but she needs him to tell her, needs to see the look in eyes when he tells her.

“Of course…on a fundamental…I enjoyed it as any man would. But I wasn’t…looking for pleasure. For so long, in your and my relationship I felt…that I was being disloyal to my love for Elizabeth. Maybe, deep down, I knew, _knew_ I loved you more than I’d ever loved her. I wanted to feel, more than passion, but what I felt _with_ you. And I didn’t.”

“And that made you realize that I’m…”

“The love of my life, Demelza. The only woman I love. I knew…knew you’d changed my life, knew it was different with you,” he stops, looking at her, “let me prove it to you?”

And she wants so bad for him to…she nods.

* * *

She stays in her little apartment, but she…she looks forward to his visits now. They have so much to rebuild but she wants them to rebuild it. She doesn’t rearrange her schedule anymore. She doesn’t trust him yet. She’s not sure she’s in love with him again yet. But, its nice, to almost start again. Demelza won’t let herself forget what he did though, she can’t. Naively, perhaps, she’d thought for so long if he just apologized it would solve everything. But it hasn’t. There’s still…so much between them.

* * *

 

“What are we now?” he asks on another day, half to himself. She doesn’t think he knows she’s listening, but she wonders how his mind has strayed to thoughts that plague her own.

_What you made us_ , she wants to answer, wonders if he’s realizing he extent of what he’s lost, but instead just says, “I don’t know.”

* * *

Despite her and everyone else’s efforts, they don’t seem to be any match for the bad economy and the restaurant closes. Verity’s husband and stepchildren are home, and Demelza can’t bring herself to impose on them. So she calls Ross. It’s not unusual, she reassures herself, to call her husband, even estranged as they are.

“Can I stay with you for a little while?” she asks after explaining what had happened.

“Of course you can come home,” he responds, emphasizing that word. _Home_.

She almost tells him that Nampara isn’t home for her anymore, and that this is temporary. She doesn’t want to give him hope where there is none. But she just thanks him and says her goodbyes.

* * *

The next day she’s installed in their old bedroom. There’s a fresh vase of flowers there, clumsily arranged, but Ross isn’t in the room for her to ask him if he’s responsible for it. Jeremy seems to be glad to be…home, at least. He settles quickly into his old room, his old bed, and Garrick is so happy to see the both of them.

“I’ll sleep in the library,” Ross says over dinner.

“Thank you,” she returns.

She’s happy, though, that he doesn’t expect her to go back to the way things were, sleeping arrangement-wise. He made dinner, too, and it’s only half successful, but she expected him to expect her to cook it. It seemed he at least realized this coming back was not a return to the status quo.

“I thought I’d take Jeremy to see the mine tomorrow,” he continues.

“That sounds like a good idea. I’m sure he’ll enjoy spending time with you, won’t you Jeremy?” She turns her head to smile at her son as she asks the question, and without thinking turns her head to smile at Ross as well. It’s a force of habit, a knee jerk reaction, but even realizing that she doesn’t stop smiling, allowing it instead to shrink but remain.

Pleased shock crosses his face before he smiles in return. “I thought maybe you’d like to come as well?”

And here she hesitates. She doesn’t know if she wants to give him the hope; doesn’t know if she is still _in_ love with him even if she knows she’ll always _love_ him.

“Come mama!” Jeremy insists so she nods and agrees without a second thought. But she sees disappointment cross over Ross’ face. She offers him another smaller smile; she doesn’t want to hurt him anymore but…his choices, had led them here and they all had to deal with the fallout. And she is trying now.

* * *

She notices, that night, that the pillow left on the bed isn’t her’s. It’s his—and she wonders what he’s done with hers. She sleeps better than she has in weeks, surrounded in his scent. It’s only because she was used to it, she tells herself. Only because she’d spent so many years breathing his scent in at night that it was hard to suddenly go without it. Surely—if she’d been on her own longer, she would have come not to miss it. Eventually.

* * *

It’s hard when he leaves in the weeks that follow. She keeps imagining him going back to Elizabeth; she dreams about it sometimes. It’s hard to look at him in the daylight after she has those dreams.

But he…he seemed to be dating her in a way that he never really had. He’d proposed to her two days after they’d slept together and they’d never really dated; and Demelza hadn’t realized she’d wished for it until he actually started to. There were picnics with her and Jeremy at least once a week, and she knew he was taking time out from the mines to do it. When he went to Truro, he’d return with movies and wine; he always brought at least one family movie and candy for Jeremy, but he also brought movies for just him and her.

It was the fresh flowers she’d find waiting for her in the kitchen, the living room, but never again in her bedroom that meant the most to her but she was indescribably happy that he was including Jeremy in his attempt to win her back.

As the weeks kept marching on, she found herself drifting closer and closer to him on the couch in the living room. Neither of them ever made any mention of her leaving again. She didn’t want to leave she realized. She wanted to stay; she’d always wanted to stay and now that she was here again she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. If he asked her to, she would. But she didn’t think she would ever bring herself to leave again of her own volition.

He was attentive, concerned, asking about her day and listening. Even when she couldn’t stop herself from making little biting comments, he took them without complaint. He was doing a good job of making her fall back in love with him. But she didn’t know if she could trust him. 

* * *

“I have to go to Trenwith tonight,” he announces one night and her heart sinks even as he reaches across the table to grab at her hand. “It’s not to see her,” he quickly reassures her. “ _George_ called me to discuss Geoffrey Charles.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, trying to decide if she believes him or not.

“Demelza,” he starts and stops, squeezing her hand. “I’ll not lie to you.”

“It’s still hard Ross,” she admits, an edge of anger. It’s a sore spot she won’t voice that he still hasn’t apologized.

“What?”

“To imagine you there again. Where she is.” She doesn’t want to explain any more than that.

“I’d like to explain to you. Someday.”

“What?” she asks, scrunching her brow. What could he possibly have to explain to her? And will she even want to hear it?

“What happened that night. All of it--or as much as you want to hear.” He stands, and she releases his hand. But he comes around to her side and leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He pulls away, but stops. “Do you think…could you love me again?”

“Oh,” she breathes, not expecting the question. “Ross, I don’t _know_ —“ she stops, miserably, hating the course of life that brought them to this.

He nods, and the motion stops her from continuing. “You don’t have to answer now,” he says. Ross turns, walking to Jeremy and kissing him goodbye as well. He’s almost out of the door when he turns, looking back at her. “I love you,” he says simply, mouth quirking up.

And then he’s gone. She busies herself with cleaning up and getting Jeremy ready for bed, but then she’s alone and forced to think about what he asked and what she said and him telling her that he loved her. She wonders if he did it to make her feel bad for not being able to tell him the same. But…she doesn’t think that was it. Maybe if he’d said it back in May she would have thought that he was trying to assuage his own guilt. She doesn’t feel that now. It was more like the words had been building up in him, like those other less wanted words, and he had to give voice to them Maybe he was trying to reassure her that even if she didn’t love him right now, he still loved her.

* * *

At nine, there was a knock on the door. Opening it revealed Dwight, and he seemed surprised to find her there.

“Ross said you were visiting Verity,” he explained his confusion.

_Visiting?_ “I came back,” she still couldn’t bring herself to voice _home_ out loud, “a few weeks ago. I haven’t had the chance to come and see you.” She ushers him into the kitchen and they both take seats.

“Ross isn’t here,” she offers.

“Oh,” he sighs, “well, I’d wanted to tell the both of you anyway, and figured I’d have to tell it twice.”

“Tell us what?”

He gulps. “I’ve enlisted. In the navy.”

They talk for a while; he explains what happened with Caroline, and she skirts around the subject of her and Ross as best she can when he asks, trying to focus the conversation on him. Demelza hears the car before Dwight does; she wonders if its normal for a person to be able to tell when the car pulling into the drive is her husband’s.

When Ross comes into, head badly wrapped in what appears to be a piece of his shirt (if the ripped off bottom of his shirt is any indication) blood coming through the fabric, she can’t stop herself from practically launching across the room to him. She fusses, pulling the fabric away to get a look at the angry red gash. It’s Dwight that convinces her to let her husband sit, Dwight that cleans and stitches and bandages the wound while she looks on from the side. When he leaves, Demelza walks him to his car, only to return to find Ross with a small smile on his face.

“I knew you still liked me,” he voices without prompting. She shakes her head at him, muttering about the pain pills Dwight gave him.

“What happened?” she asks seriously. The smile doesn’t leave his face though.

“George Warleggan happened.”

“Ross,” she sighs out. “What did he do?”

“He said something I didn’t care for.”

“Oh Ross.”

“And I couldn’t let it go.”

“Was it,” she shakes her head but presses on, “was it about me?”

He levels her with one of his looks. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Demelza feels giddy; she senses the tease in his voice. She’s about to offer to help him to his bed when he smiles at her again.

“Knew you still liked me,” he says again.

“Of course…of course I still like you,” she admits, realizing the truth of the statement as she says it.

“Good,” he nods his head, “I can work with that.”

* * *

 

Christmas is fast approaching when she asks Ross to find Caroline. She can’t let Dwight leave without either of them having any reconciliation, or at least understanding of what happened between them. He agrees after little prompting, and when the woman in question refuses to respond to either calls or emails, he agrees to go to London and see her in person.

“You seem eager to get me away,” he teases.

“I could say you seem eager to leave,” she teases back. He kisses her after a moment’s hesitation, full on the lips, soft and slow, giving her plenty on time to turn away and not lingering. Even though she finds she wants him to.

“I’m eager to leave as soon as possible so I can come back sooner and enjoy Christmas with the only people that matter to me.”

She almost asks him who else is coming, but she remembers…they’d talked about it weeks ago. Verity had apologized and apologized, but she wanted to spend Christmas with her family; she explained it was the first time her husband and stepchildren would be available for the holiday, and with the baby just born…she’d see them for New Years. Dwight had been invited, but he’d turned it down; he said he was afraid he’d ruin the good mood of the holiday because he was still upset about Caroline. Which was why Demelza was sending her husband to London. So she and Ross had decided to spend Christmas just the three of them.

“Hurry back,” she calls after his retreating back, and he turns to smile at her.

* * *

He texts her from the bus; tells her that Dwight had lied to them and he was shipping out and that’s why he couldn’t come for Christmas. Ross says he’ll figure it out, that he’ll get Dwight and Caroline to see each other one last time still. They kept texting back and forth, though, and she realized she missed _this_. Since she came back, they’d talked but it was stilted, reserved on both their parts, tiptoeing around each other. This now, it’s lacking that. She’s slipping back into old patterns, and she’s not entirely upset by the idea.

Still, sometimes she felt he was only trying with her because…because Elizabeth was remarried and had said or done something to make him think she was uninterested in him after the one night they’d spend together. Oh, she knew he loved her, her Demelza, but she couldn’t help feeling that he still was in love with the both of them and she didn’t want to be second choice, second best, the person he settled for because he couldn’t have the person he really wanted. Maybe, she thought, maybe she should let him tell her what had happened. But always, she was afraid that he’d tell her he enjoyed being with Elizabeth more than he enjoyed being with his wife. She was afraid he’d tell her that even though he enjoyed himself with Elizabeth more, he was willing to settle for the passion between him and Demelza, even if it paled in comparison.

It was easier when he was home, easier when she caught him looking at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen, like he could watch her forever and never get tired. Harder when he was away from her once more, and she didn’t really know where he was. Maybe he knew that, some part of him, and that’s why he kept texting her this time; she was glad he’d chosen not to drive, that he’d taken the bus into London, so that they could do this.

* * *

She can’t sleep that night. The scent of him has gone out of the sheets and the pillow. She’d gotten used to it again. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, she eases out of the bed, down the stairs to the library. The cot is uncomfortable, when she lays on it. But it smells like him. The pillow, she realizes, is her own missing one. It smells like her favorite perfume—also missing—and with a smile she snuggles in and finally falls asleep.

* * *

The day before Christmas Eve, she goes for a walk, Garrick at her side. She wanted to go to the little shops in the village, find a few last minute presents for Jeremy; Prudie had missed the boy and was happy to watch him for her for the afternoon. She’d walked this path many times before but apparently, in the time she’d been gone, some changes had happened to the countryside she was once able to walk freely. There were fences around properties she used to be able to walk through; she assumed it was Warleggan land.

There was a bit of a scuffle with some of George’s lackey’s; he’d always seemed ridiculously old fashioned to her, but never more than now when he was acting like…like a king guarding his castle. Garrick bit her in the confusion of it all, and that was enough to stop her from rushing the men who had shot her dog, even if George himself hadn’t come along and diffused the situation. She walked back home, cradling her hand and trying to fuss over Garrick while getting away from Warleggan land before George changed his mind.

Ross calls that night; the snow had caused some delays with the bus routes. He was trying to get home in time for Christmas, he said, but he didn’t know if that would actually happen.

“Alright,” she says, defeat in her voice. She’d hoped…well it didn’t matter what she’d hoped if he wasn’t going to be home (but she’d looked forward to the Christmas with just the three of them). “But what about Caroline and Dwight?”

“I’ll tell you when I get home, my love,” he promises, and she can’t help but smile as she bids him goodbye.

* * *

Christmas Eve comes faster than she would have thought possible. And still no Ross. She didn’t want to sit around waiting for him when he’d said he probably wouldn’t make it in time; she took Jeremy down to Prudie and Jud’s house to bring them the cookies they’d spend the day baking. Halfway home, Demelza started humming, than singing, to her laughing son’s delight. She realized she hadn’t sung since…since she’d left.

Both her and Jeremy were singing and laughing when they burst into Nampara.

“What do you have to sing about?” a teasing voice asks, and she laughs harder, looking into the smiling face of her husband, finally home. He came across the room, kissing her softly in greeting before bending down to place a kiss on Jeremy’s cheek.

“You made it, then,” she says, smiling and biting her lip.

“I made it,” he agrees. He produces a stuffed toy for Jeremy, promising him the rest of his presents tomorrow; Jeremy scampers off, with Garrick, and his parents both smile after him. “I missed you,” he breathes, leaning down and kissing her again, his hands on her arms.

“I missed you too,” she answers when he pulls away. “How’d you get back in time?”

“It wasn’t easy,” he admits. “I had to hitch a ride with some people, but the weather wasn’t so bad the closer I got to here.”

“And Dwight and Caroline?”

“Are coming here. I hope…well, I probably should have asked you first, but I hope you don’t mind. They felt more comfortable staying here to discuss everything.”

“That’s fine Ross. We can still spend Christmas together,” she hesitates before adding, “and it would be nice to actually get to say goodbye to Dwight.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “I told him we were disappointed in him for trying to sneak away without letting us know.”

She laughs at that. “Okay, grandpa.”

“Dwight can only stay until tomorrow night anyway. We’ll have Christmas evening just the three of us.”

Her smile grows, and she frees one arm from his hand to push the hair out of her eyes. “That sounds wonderful.”

His eyes narrow, though, focusing on her hand. Belatedly, she realizes it’s the wrist that Garrick bit. “What’s that on your wrist?”

“I think you’ve seen a bandage before, Ross.”

“Yes, dear, but _why_ is there a bandage?” He looked so concerned while he asked it; taking her hand in his gently and moving to remove the bandage.

“Its not important, Ross, and its almost healed by now anyway. It’s just a—a scratch. Tell me more about your trip,” she demands, trying to change the subject. He doesn’t let go of her hand though, staring at the bandage covering her small wound. He looks half ready to fight whatever hurt her.

“What happened?” he asks, more insistently, and she sighs in defeat.

“It was an accident,” she starts, trying to decide how exactly to tell him, “Garrick bit me. By accident.”

“Garrick?” he asks incredulously, eyes shooting to hers, disbelief in every line of his face.

“Forget it please, Ross. It’s not—well it’s over now. Tell me about Caroline and Dwight now.”

“There’s plenty of time for me to tell you that later,” he insists, unwrapping the bandage. He sucks in a breath when he sees the clear bite wounds. “Demelza—“

And she can tell by his tone that she has to tell him exactly what happened, can tell he’s ready to send Garrick away for daring to hurt her. So she explains as he wraps her wrist back up, and he listens, his face oddly calm. When she’s done he marches to the door.

“Ross,” she says, stopping him, knowing his plans as she did on that horrible night. “Don’t go there tonight.” And her words send a pang through her at the horrible memory of that night. She’d pled the same thing then, and it hadn’t stopped him; so why should it stop him now? But wasn’t it different? If it was anger toward George because of _her_ and not because of Elizabeth? She couldn’t help feeling, though, that they’d be better off if Ross spent more of his time listening to her.

But he crosses back over to her, seeing her fears written clearly on her face, and cradles her face in his hand. “This…this rivalry between George and me has to stop, Demelza. I won’t abide you getting hurt because of my decisions.”

“Ross—“ she starts, about to remind him that his decisions had hurt her often.

“Anymore,” he adds quickly. “I won’t let you be hurt because of my decisions anymore. I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt anymore. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that my actions no longer result in you getting hurt.”

“I hardly think its your fault that I—“

“Demelza,” he stops her, “I have to do this.”

“I don’t want you to. I want you to stay and help me get ready for Dwight and Caroline. _Please_ Ross. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m the one that starts all the fights with George. I’m not going to fight with him tonight”

She sighs in defeat. “You’d better come home. Tonight.”

“Anyone would think you liked me, hearing you say things like that,” he teases, trying to break the tension as he kisses her goodbye. She watches him leave.

* * *

He was back within the hour, to her surprise and joy, looking no worse for wear for once. She looks at his lips; she’ll admit, from the fact that his attitude is not angry—no small feat for him after a visit with George—, she half expects that he found Elizabeth alone instead of George. She’s looking, she knows, for swollen lips to tell her if he’d been kissing Elizabeth. But she doesn’t find it. He greets her with a kiss again, and she kisses him back this time. Just a little, but it’s enough to make him linger as he used to.

* * *

They’re sitting in the parlor later, after their guests have both gone to bed. She sits close to him, his arm draped over the couch behind her head, their knees nearly touching.

It’s been bothering her for months; he’s been so honest with her and she has a deep need to return the favor.

“If we’re going to try again, Ross, I need you to know…” she swallows, pausing, wondering if this is really necessary. “I tried to sleep with someone.” She can’t look at him after admitting it, but she hears him make a choking sound.

“ _What_?” he asks and it sounds strangled.

“I wanted…I wanted to try to forget you. I thought…if you could throw off our marriage so easily, then I could too. And,” she pauses, and the look on his face makes her change course. “Are you alright, Ross?”

He swallows. “Fine, fine, only I’d like to beat the man, whoever he is.”

“ _Ross_ , that’s hardly…nothing much happened.”

“Nothing _much_?” he sighed, standing up. “I could beat him,” he repeated.

“God, Ross, it’s not fair to be angry at him. I—I would have slept with anyone then.”

“I don’t _understand_ , Demelza, how could—did you love him?”

“ _What_? Of course not, how could you even _say_ that?” _She_ doesn’t understand his anger…she’d thought, she’d tried to listen to him when he’d explained what happened with Elizabeth without getting angry. She doesn’t understand.

“Then why…how?”

“You’d—I thought you’d abandoned me for Elizabeth, do you understand that? I was thinking every day about whether or not I should divorce you. Or whether or not I was going to get divorce papers from _you_. I wanted…I wanted to force myself to move on.”

“So you just threw yourself at the first man who showed you a bit of interest?” he asks, low and angry, and she’s dimly aware that if they didn’t have guests they’d probably be screaming at each other. They hadn’t—they hadn’t fought like this since she’d come home. 

“If you think he was the first man aside from you to show me attentions, you’re wrong,” she says viciously. “And you have no right to be angry at me for it. _I_ didn’t break my vows. _I_ stopped myself. You have no _right_ to be angry at me for _almost_ doing something that _you_ did. And even if I had slept with him, you’d still have no right to be angry at me.”

“ _I_ loved Elizabeth for over _ten years_ , Demelza. It wasn’t some spur of the moment, built up passion. It was the result of what I’d felt for her for _years_ ,” he grinds out, clenching his hands into fists.

She breathes out, closing her eyes, trying to calm herself. “Look, Ross, if I had slept with him then we would have both been in the wrong and I’d understand your anger. But I didn’t. I didn’t sleep with him and I don’t love him, and he got _nothing_ from me.”

He scoffs. “I can’t know what he got from you.”

A sob builds up in her throat. “I can’t do this anymore, Ross,” and she’s close to tears as she says it, but she doesn’t care if he sees this time. She goes upstairs as quietly as she can. She won’t take Jeremy tonight, but like before, she knows she needs to leave. She grabs random things this time, uncaring, needing to leave and go _now_.

“Where are you going? Back to _him_?” he asks when she comes back down. She ignores him. She never thought….well she knows this is the end now, and she didn’t think it would end like this.

Her car won’t start, and isn’t that just her luck? She pulls out the jumper cables, something she’s had to do often, but she can’t seem to get her hands to perform the motion.

“Let me,” Ross says from behind her; she startles a little at his voice, but lets him in, watches as he jumps her car for her. “Where will you go?” he asks quietly when she moves around him to get in the car.

“Maybe to Jud and Prudie’s for the night.”

“It might be better if you leave in the morning.”

“I can’t stay tonight Ross. I’ll come back for Jeremy and Garrick.”

He swallows, visibly. “Don’t go,” he says softly.

“I don’t see how I can stay after this,” she returns, a sob catching in her throat. “I don’t see how you can want me to stay.”

“Look, I was surprised. And angry, and jealous, and I think I understand a little how you must have felt all these months that you’ve rightly been angry with me. Demelza, I lived without Elizabeth for years. And I was barely living. I didn’t think I could live without her. You and I—I know we can live without each other. But I don’t _want_ to live without you. I want to be with you. And I’ve found that I don’t want to be with her. And I should have been able to realize that years ago--”

“Well, you are remarkably horrible about knowing your own emotions,” she cuts in, and she can already sense…she doesn’t want to leave. She’ll stay if she can.

He laughs, softly. “True. But, Demelza, my love, I realize it now. So no, I don’t want you to leave.”

“Ross,” she whispers, “maybe there’s nothing left. Maybe all we’ll ever have for the rest of our lives is these fights.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of? I love you, Demelza, and I’ll let you go if that’s what you want. But you have to…I need you to know that I am sorry for what I did. Sorry that I hurt you. And if you had slept with someone else, it would have been my fault. You’re right. I have no right to be angry with you for it. Come back inside, love; let us talk it over,” he finishes, looking at her pleadingly.

She lets him lead her back inside.

“Ross,” she says in the kitchen, “we might never be what we were.”

“Can we try, Demelza? I want…I want to try. You can leave in the morning if you still want to.” He hasn’t let go of her hand since he led her back in, like he’s afraid she might slip away.

“Alright,” she agrees, because she really wants to stay. It’s close to midnight now, and he hands her two wrapped boxes that reveal two pieces of jewelry. They bring tears to her eyes once more.

“I didn’t want you to cry, love,” he says, trying to console her, reaching to take the presents back. She holds them away from him.

“I love them,” she reassures him. “They’re beautiful. But they’re too much. You’ll break my heart.”

“See, that’s not what I got them for,” he reaches again to take the necklace and bracelet from her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with _these_. I’ll get you something else. Something better.”

“Don’t take them, Ross, its just…they’re too expensive for _me_.”

“I assure you they’re not,” but he’s successful this time in taking the necklace from her. He unfastens it, clasping it around her neck. “There. I’ll admit…I wanted to buy myself into your favor, even a little.”

“Ridiculous,” she teases, laughing a little. She feels lighter than she has in months.

“Mm, maybe. But I wanted you to understand how much you mean to me.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t get anything for you for Christmas,” she says, biting her lip. She hadn’t known what to get him.

He smiles. “I didn’t expect anything,” he reassures her. “It’s enough that you’re here.”

But she doesn’t feel like it’s enough; and…she feels like she’s ready.

“Ross,” she pauses, taking a deep breath. “Take me to bed.”

His eyes widen. “You don’t have to do this, Demelza.”

“I want to, Ross. I want you,” and she smiles as she says it, reassuring. Open.

“It’s too soon,” he argues half-heartedly.

“Do you not want me?” she asks, slightly teasing, but wanting him to say it.

“Oh, Demelza, that’s not it at _all_ ,” he reassures.

“You might be right, Ross. It might be too soon. But I want you,” she breathes, and he leans down and kisses her, deeply. Desperately.

“But only if you want me,” she’s quick to add when he pulls away, and he smiles, taking her hand.

“Of course I want you.” He grabs her hand and leads her up the stairs, pausing only to kiss her first at the foot of the stairs, then again at the top just outside the door—she wonders, briefly, where he would have slept otherwise since Dwight took his bed in the library. But that hardly matters now. She kisses him after he closes the door to their bedroom, fingers tangling in his curls.

* * *

 

He picks he up, bridal style, carrying her to the bed, never breaking their kiss. He lays her down on the bed, and she looks up at him, her breath heaving; she feels flushed. She reaches for him. She wants, _needs_ , his now.

Ross lets her tug him to her, kissing her again, moving his lips from hers to dance over her cheeks and eye-lids, over her mouth once more, and then down her neck. He sucks softly at her pulse point under her chin. Distantly, Demelza knows she’ll have a hickey, visible to anyone and everyone. But she doesn’t care. She wants him to mark her. His moves lower still, dragging his lips over the cleavage above her shirt.

He rucks the shirt off of her in one smooth motion, lifting up to stare at her hungrily. He looks up at her face, smiling softly; his eyes are blown black with lust.

“Let me worship you, Demelza,” he pleads, “let me show you how much you mean to me.” And she nods. His lips return to her breasts, his hand going behind her back to unhook her bra. He tugs it off, mouth closing over one nipple. She gasps, throwing her head back, lifting her hips up to him. It’s been so long—months. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this. “Demelza,” he breathes over and over, moving his mouth to meet her other breast.

She’s glad for it, glad that he keeps repeating _her_ name. She’d worried—worried that he’d call out someone else’s—but she won’t think about that now. Instead, she focuses on him, on the way his hands and lips feel on her skin.

He drags his lips down her stomach, hands grasping her hips. “Demelza,” he says again.

“Ross,” she sighs, fingers drifting down to his hair as he drags his lips over her stomach, above the waistband of her jeans. “Tell me you’re mine.”

He looks up at her. “I’m yours, Demelza, as long as you’ll have me. Just yours, from now on.” He takes her jeans off, slowly, leaving kisses over the skin of her legs, reacquainting himself with her body. “You smell so good,” he says as he kisses over her left knee. “I missed these legs.”

“Just my legs?” she asks with just a bit of cheek.

“All of you,” he responds seriously, mouth tracing up the inside first one thigh and then down the other. He drags his mouth back up then, his fingers hooking into the sides of her underwear. He doesn’t pull them down though; he kisses her through them, and she bucks up into his mouth. He moves back then, dragging the underwear down her legs, throwing them off, leaving her glad in only the necklace he’d got for her. She watches as his eyes rake over her, a slow perusal that makes a pleasant blush break over her skin. “So beautiful,” he breathes, moving back toward her. But…

“Lock the door,” she mutters desperately before he can return his mouth to her, wanting no interruptions, cursing herself for the loss of his hands on her when he backs away, off the bed, turning the lock. She’s reaching for him before the lock has even clicked into place, and he comes willingly.

He hooks her legs over his shoulders when he settles between them once more. Demelza waits, expectation hot and coiled in her stomach…but he turns his head, dragging his nose along her thigh.

“Ross,” she whines, bucking up insistently. He laughs a little, but his hands grip her thighs; she wonders, briefly, how much of what he was doing was really teasing, and how much it was…to keep control of himself. But then his mouth closes over her clit, sucking gently, and it drives coherent thought from her head. She bucks up against his mouth, tugging his curls, needing him closer to her, always closer.

“ _More_ ,” she moans, desperate. His easy, light touches aren’t enough, she finds, nice as they are; they’re building the inferno, but it feels like a tease. He licks her in response, twirling his tongue around her clit, finding a rhythm that drives her to distraction. She clenches his hair, urging him on…he flattens his tongue against her and she has to raise a hand to her mouth quickly, biting on it so her shriek won’t wake the whole house. She can feel her orgasm building, tiny tremors running through her body; she tries to pull him closer still with the hand still tangled in his hair and the legs around his shoulders. His tongue still moves in that same pattern, swiping a little faster with each succession. She turns her head to the side just in time, biting the pillow under her head just as she comes with a strangled yell, hips bucking up to meet the mouth that doesn’t leave her, working her through her orgasm.

Finally, too soon, he backs away, unclasping her legs from around his neck. Her hand falls limply, letting go of his hair, and he moves up her body, kissing her; the taste of herself on his lips is…intoxicating. She kisses him back, holding nothing back as she wraps her arms around his neck, holding him close. She can feel his erection against her thigh; he rolls his hips into her a little. Twisting, she moves his body under hers, settling herself on his still-clothed lap. She rolls her hips a little, and he bucks against her now. Smirking down at him, she runs her hands over his chest, taking the hem of his shirt; she drags it up, he helps her take it off.

Leaning forward, she places a kiss under his chin, in the spot nearly identical to where he undoubtedly left a hickey. She decides to return the favor, sucking insistently at the skin, easing back a bit to admire her handiwork, before dragging her teeth softly down his neck. She wants him inside her, though; she has none of his patience for teasing touches, not when it means denying pleasure for the both of them. So she sits back up, fingers working quickly, surely, to remove his belt. It’s a struggle to get his pants and shoes off—mostly because she doesn’t want to move off of him long enough to do it.

They get him undressed, though, both of them laughing. She locks her eyes with his when he’s finally naked under her, the laughter stolen from her. She takes his hardened length in her hand, eases slowly down onto it. They both gasp when he’s fully in her; she rolls her hips, taking him deeper at the same time he rises his hips to meet her. Placing her hands on his chest to steady herself, his hands coming to her hips, she rises up, till only the tip of him is still in her before rolling back down. She’s panting, soft puffs of air; he sits up, a hand tangling in her hair and pulling her to him, kissing her and covering her gasps. He bucks again; she has to tear her mouth from his, biting his shoulder in an attempt to keep quiet. He moves his other hand from her hip, down, his thumb finding her clit, pressing insistently.

“Come with me, Demelza,” he begs, rubbing her in circles…she comes, tremors rocking through her, pussy clenching at his cock. He spills inside of her then, holds her to him as they both ride their high, lifting her head and kissing her once more.

Ross is the one that eases them both down to the bed, still gasping for air, a slight sheen of sweat coating both of their bodies. She tangles her legs with his, and he raises a hand to her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

“You only have one pillow,” he grumbles, suddenly, trying to pull the object out from under her head.

“And whose fault is that? I think I found the second one—my pillow, correct me if I’m wrong—in the library,” she says, sleepy, not wanting to give up the object under her head.

Caught, he closes his eyes, relinquishing the pillow to her.

“Go to sleep, my love,” he murmurs drowsily. “You can tease me in the morning.”

Demelza smiles, curling into his side. He drapes an arm over her, pulling her close.

* * *

 

“I love you,” she whispers to Ross in the cool light of morning while he’s still asleep. It’s easier then when he’s awake. She’s…practicing; she wants to tell him one day when he’s awake, and he’ll smile that special smile and tell her he loves her too. But she’s not entirely ready yet.

She knows, she knows they’ll have to get up soon, have to face realities. She doesn’t know, however, if this night will fix everything that needs fixing between them; she _knows_ it can’t. They need to talk more, the both of them, and everything that needs fixing between them can’t be fixed by a night of passion anymore than it could be fixed by a simple apology. But…she knows him better now then she did before. She’s not sure she can trust him wholly but she wants to give him the chance to prove himself. She wants for him to prove her worst fears wrong this time.

Demelza pushes herself up, a pleasant, missed soreness between her thighs. She allows herself one more moment to look at his face before getting out of bed as quietly as she can. She tucks herself into her robe, and exits the room to check on Jeremy, asleep still in his bed. It’s early—they have time yet.

She slips back into her room, makes her way over to the bed. Ross blinks up at her when the bed dips under her weight. And he smiles.

“’Morning,” he greets, reaching for her, and she lets him pull her into the circle of his arms. He places a kiss on top of her head as he sits up, holding her close.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, snuggling closer to him. He hums in agreement, rubbing a hand over her arm. It feels like a dream—a wonderful dream, but a dream none-the-less. She wonders how long it will take her to accept this as a reality.

“I love you,” he whispers, lips against her hair, and she takes the words, holds them, absorbing the truth of them to her.

And she smiles as she says, with no hesitation, knowing the truth of her own words, “I love you, too.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Select conversations adapted either from the books or from the show.


End file.
